


Clasp

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/F, Holding Hands, Inline with canon, Insomnia, Literal Sleeping Together, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-07 13:42:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17961668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "It's exactly as the lights go out that Hitoka's brain decides to pick up into overdrive." Hitoka has trouble sleeping until she gets some support from her senpai.





	Clasp

Hitoka can’t sleep.

There’s no good reason for this. She’s wearing her favorite pajamas, the ones that are worn soft by multiple washings and fit well enough for her to be sure they’re flattering. The futon underneath her is as soft as the one in her own bedroom, the pillow just as plush; and it’s been a long day at the training camp, with few breaks long enough to so much as step out of the gym to look up at the progress of the sun that seemed to move across the arc of the sky by fits and starts rather than in the smooth procession that Hitoka is used to seeing. She spent the whole of dinner covering her mouth with her hand in a mostly-futile attempt to hide her sleepiness from the calm consideration of Shimizu across the table from her, and if she stayed awake in the lingering heat of the women’s bath she thinks privately that was thanks to her attention to the way the steam was collecting to jewels of liquid at the soft hair at the back of Shimizu’s neck, where the tendrils are too fine or too short to be caught up in the towel she wrapped around her hair. Hitoka was glad for the heat of the water to give an excuse for the flush across her face, and gladder for Shimizu’s unceasing welcome and friendliness, even if every curve of the other girl’s lips rather increased Hitoka’s struggles with her blush than anything else; but even with self-consciousness fitting itself across her shoulders, the hot water left Hitoka so languid-heavy with exhaustion she had thought she would collapse into dreams as soon as she fit herself under the blankets of her futon.

It was exactly as the lights went out that her brain decided to pick up into overdrive, of course. Her exhaustion hasn’t changed -- that remains in the whole of her body, aching in her muscles and glowing dull, distant heat through her shoulders and legs and fingertips -- but her mind is moving as if to catch up to the physical exertion of the day, rushing forward into a frenzy of alarm as soon as the dim lighting in the room set aside for the managers’ use settles to remove the distraction of clarity from Hitoka’s vision. Hitoka lies atop her futon, her body too heavy to move and her muscles aching with the desire for sleep, and her mind speeds over everything she did over the course of the day, revisiting every action and every word she voiced with an attention to detail that she couldn’t muster in the moment of the morning or the frenzy of the afternoon. Hitoka grimaces into the dark of the room, flinching for the missteps of politeness she made with some of the teams they are playing and flushing over the fumbling mess she made of her words every time Shimizu so much as glanced her way, and every recollection seems to bring three more in its wake, until she feels she is working herself into greater embarrassment by the minute instead of more calm.

Nothing works to ease her adrenaline. She tries turning over in her sheets, tries throwing off the blankets to cool her overheated face and then cuddling under all of them at once to attempt to achieve such comfort that she can’t help but sleep; she keeps her eyes shut, refusing to let herself focus on the vague shapes of the other girls around her, she lets herself stare at what details she can make out in case boredom will do what intent cannot. She breathes deep, and lies still, and tries to relax each part of her body point by point; but she just finds herself staring at the ceiling overhead, her face burning with embarrassment as she recalls stumbling around a corner and almost falling into Shimizu’s arms, and sleep seems as impossibly far away as she thinks it has ever been in the whole of her life.

Hitoka doesn’t think anything of the rustle of the blankets alongside her at first. There are a handful of girls sharing the room, even if they are packed nothing like as tightly as the teams crammed into the boy’s sleeping quarters; she’s too lost in her own thoughts to jump every time someone turns over, and she can only hope that her own motion hasn’t been disturbing those around her. To have her neighbor shifting in her sleep is nothing to startle at, nothing to respond to, but then: “Hitoka-chan,” Shimizu’s soft voice says. “Can’t you sleep?” and Hitoka is jerking to turn and find Shimizu gazing at her from where her head is resting atop her own pillow.

“Oh,” Hitoka blurts, more loudly than she intends and with more audible shock than she wanted to convey. She claps a hand to her mouth at once, as if she might be able to hold back the sound of her voice after the fact if she moves sharply enough, but there’s no other sound in the room, nothing to indicate any disturbance caused by her careless response. She lowers her hand carefully and blinks at Shimizu gazing at her from the adjourning futon. “Shimizu-senpai.” She speaks more softly, this time, deliberately in the lowest whisper she can find; it still feels forced, as if Shimizu will be able to hear Hitoka’s efforts to soften her voice. Shimizu’s own tone sounds entirely natural, as if she is just as comfortable murmuring in a whisper as speaking in a normal tone. “I’m so sorry, did I wake you up?”

Shimizu’s lips curve onto a smile and she shakes her head against the pillow. “No,” she says. “I was already awake and saw you were too.” She shifts against her futon to rock in a little bit closer to the edge of Hitoka’s own. A lock of her hair slides over her shoulder to join the dark spill the strands are making at her pillow. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“No!” Hitoka says, with as much force as she can put onto her voice when her whole body is tense with the need to keep from waking any of the sleeping girls around her. “No, I--” She grimaces and turns onto her side, following Shimizu’s lead in sliding onto the edge of her futon so she can get closer and speak more softly. Shimizu just watches her, her eyes wide and fixed on Hitoka as if it’s entirely normal to be having a murmured conversation between them in the middle of the night; her lashes are distractingly long without the shine of her glasses between them. The shadow of them makes Hitoka feel dizzy, makes her gaze slide off and down to stick to Shimizu’s shoulder under the weight of her blankets as a safer point than any part of the delicate features as close to Hitoka’s own as they are. Hitoka presses her lips together and swallows to ease some of the strain on her voice before she goes on murmuring, her gaze fixed firmly at Shimizu’s shoulder instead of the attention in her dark eyes. “I’m comfortable. I just can’t get to sleep.”

Shimizu’s laugh seems the warmer for how soft it is in her throat. “I know that feeling,” she admits. “When you’re so tired you can’t get to sleep even though nothing sounds better.” Hitoka ducks her head into a nod without lifting her gaze from Shimizu’s shoulder and Shimizu hums in the back of her throat. “It’s usually easier after the first night, at least. Once everything feels a little more familiar it’s easier to relax.

“But for now.” Shimizu shifts at the futon, lifting her arm up and free of the sheets. “Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day too. You’ll be asleep on your feet if you don’t get some rest tonight.” She angles her elbow over the weight of the comforter to hold the blankets in against her as she reaches out over the few inches of space between her futon and Hitoka’s next to her. “Give me your hand.”

Hitoka shifts her weight against the futon beneath her so she can free a hand to offer to answer Shimizu’s own. She doesn’t know what she expects -- slender fingers finding a pressure point, maybe, or Shimizu pulling her into a more comfortable position against the sheets underneath her -- but when she offers her hand for Shimizu’s taking the other girl only shifts her palm to turn her hand in and match Hitoka’s own. Her fingers shift, the delicate grace of them slipping to fit between Hitoka’s, and Hitoka has to press her lips together to keep from squeaking self-consciousness as Shimizu closes her hold on Hitoka’s hand as if this is a perfectly ordinary action to take, as if she interlaces her fingers with Hitoka’s on a regular basis.

“Now,” Shimizu says, and turns in against the futon to tip herself the closer to Hitoka before her as she settles herself around the fixed point of their hands clasped between them. “Breathe slowly, with me.” She draws an inhale with deliberate care, easing into the pull of it as if she’s reminding Hitoka how to breathe, as if the other girl has perhaps forgotten the details of the motion. Then again, with how hard Hitoka’s heart is pounding, she thinks she could do with the reminder. “Shut your eyes and let your mind go still.”

Hitoka presses her lips together and struggles to find her voice. “Like this?” she asks, finally, with her voice audibly strained. She’s sure her hand must be shaking in Shimizu’s hold as clearly as her shoulders are tensing in answer, but Shimizu just smiles without opening her eyes and tightens her fingers.

“Just like this,” she says. “Focus on your breathing, not on trying to sleep.” She squeezes against Hitoka’s hand for a moment of pressure before she eases her grip to the comfortable weight she’s been sustaining. “We’ll both fall asleep together, Hitoka-chan.”

Hitoka stares at Shimizu in front of her for a long moment, granted the possibility of indulgence by the other girl’s closed eyes and her own thoughts being scattered too widely to leave her space to force herself into restraint. Shimizu’s lashes are dark against the arch of her cheekbones, her lips are soft and barely parted on the slow pace of her breathing; were it not for the hold she still has on Hitoka’s hand Hitoka would think her asleep already from how still she is. She looks like a princess from a fairy tale, like Sleeping Beauty waiting for the kiss of a prince to stir her from a century of rest; and Hitoka has to duck her head even with no audience for that thought, has to shake her head against her pillow just to bring the flush that crests over her cheeks to a more manageable level. Shimizu’s fingers tighten on her hand again but the other girl hasn’t opened her eyes when Hitoka looks back to her; there’s a curve at her lips, the start of a smile against her mouth, but she hasn’t looked up to see Hitoka staring shocked-silent at her. Hitoka looks at her again, taking in the ease in Shimizu’s face, the beauty of her features heightened rather than diminished by her present comfort; and then she ducks her head down at the soft of her pillow and shuts her eyes.

She’s sure she won’t be able to sleep. The heat of Shimizu’s hand in hers is too much to forget, too stark and clear for her to possibly relax into; but with her eyes shut there’s nothing else to hold her attention, nothing of the distraction of her surroundings or the frantic hum of her thoughts to hold her awake. There’s just the clasp of Shimizu’s fingers around her hand, and the soft murmur of the other girl’s breathing in the narrow space between them, and Hitoka finds her own breath falling into alignment with Shimizu’s in spite of herself, finds the frantic speed of her heartrate easing into comfort as if drawn there by Shimizu’s hold. Hitoka breathes slow, and feels the pressure of Shimizu’s hand clasping hers to hold her to the calm that she has found, and the moment is so entirely perfect that Hitoka doesn’t even notice the shift from reality into the wandering warmth of her imagination’s inventions.


End file.
